


knock you down, lift you up

by c_doves



Series: aint a safeword [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Begging, Boot Worship, Bottom Matt Murdock, Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, Flogging, Kneeling, M/M, Spanking, top Frank Castle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 13:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17725964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c_doves/pseuds/c_doves
Summary: Red's begging for it. Who is Frank to deny him?





	knock you down, lift you up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookyleo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyleo/gifts).



> Hello, please accept this unbeta'd and positively self-indulgent continuation of 'your name aint a safeword'. While the first was a prompt fill and part of a challenge, any further writing in this series is just gonna get thrown in here. While you'd have more context starting with the other fic, this is pretty much just porn, so context is kinda superfluous.
> 
> I write for enjoyment; I write impulsively, and I post sporadically. Feel free to subscribe because I obviously haven't even made it to the blowjob bit :P But that's all for today and I'm just too excited that I did _anything_ not to share. The next update might be in 3 days or 3 months, who knows? Not me.

For all Red’s feigned confidence in this, he doesn’t actually appear to know how to start. Frank resists the urge to make a snarky comment. When the other man had given his safeword, Frank had assumed Red had at least some experience playing in a power exchange. But only moments later, at his clear nervousness, Frank is already questioning that assumption.

Taking pity on Red’s nervousness, he moves his right foot forward. “Start at the toe,” he instructs, “and make small circles till it looks good, Red.”

He doesn’t know exactly what Red is seeking, what he’d normally try to get in a partner, but Frank is people-smart in a way that many have underestimated over the years. He’s patient enough, observant, focused and thorough like a shark that smells blood. Frank tests the waters by reaching out, a single finger under Red’s chin forcing his face up. Frank might not be able to see Red’s eyes, but Red must be able to see his and Frank uses that.

The slight stutter in his breathing is the only outward sign of Red’s nerves, he’s otherwise pliant under Frank’s touch. Frank trails his finger softly, tracing along Red’s throat and then continuing the movement up his jawline until his hand is cupping Red’s face gently. “Two hundred circles on each boot, leave the sides and heels, I use the brush for those. Don’t lose count” Frank drops his hand calmly, and leans back in his chair and waits for Red to make his move.

It’s weird seeing the Devil of Hell's Kitchen frazzled. The man leans back on his heels slightly, the movement seemingly unconscious, before he ducks his head and reaches out to start.

Red, already on his knees, needs to bend forward - not quite over-reaching - to adequately reach each boot. Frank can see by the tension in Red’s thighs that he has to work at it to hold his balance in the position but decides to keep him off-kilter.Frank doesn’t bother to keep count, sure that Red is, considering his focus and the methodical little circles he’s making.

Red’s breathing has slowed and evened out considerably, and when he must be close to finishing the second boot, Frank decides its time to reinforce the power imbalance. He reaches out to comb his fingers through Red’s hair at the base of his skull - the only part not covered by that ridiculous mask. The moment he makes contact, Red’s movements stutter as though he’d been surprised, hadn’t even noticed Frank move, but then he quietly continues his task.

Frank combs through his hair a few times before twisting his fingers in the strands and yanking it back and down. Red has to scramble for a second to not lose his balance as his gaze is forced up towards Frank. That damn mask diminishes how effective Frank feels, but only a bit. He might not be able to stare Daredevil down through the opaque red lenses, but he has so much more to work with. Loosening his fingers again, Frank slides his fingers along Red’s neck until they come to rest under his chin, the slight pressure keeping Red’s head up in what must be an almost uncomfortable position. Red has forgotten his task completely, and Frank’s thumb slides roughly against the kneeling man’s bottom lip, with just a hint of a scratch.

“You look damn fine in my shirt, Red,” Frank drawls.

Red parts his lips in apparent invitation, and Frank doesn’t hesitate to let his thumb slide in past Red’s teeth. The younger man doesn’t disappoint, his tongue lightly circling around the pad of Frank’s thumb before forming a seal with his lips and -

“Fuck, Red,” Frank growls. “You seem to know how to put that mouth to good use.”

Red makes a vaguely affirmative and positively filthy moan around his thumb, still letting his head be tilted up so high and his fingers splayed on either side of Frank’s boots, where they had scrambled to balance him out at the sudden change of position.

 

Frank lets Red suck and lick at his thumb for a few more moments before releasing him and withdrawing. Red’s body sways slightly towards him like a moth to a flame. Frank doesn’t bother hiding his smirk. “You ain’t earned it yet,” he tells him. “Forehead on the floor.”

Red immediately obeys, Frank wasn’t sure if he would or not, but he’ll have plenty of opportunity to put Red in his place regardless of how compliant he might be. Red can’t move forward with Frank right in front of him, so he ends up head down practically kissing the floor, with his ass up and on display like some kind of porno. Frank’s oversized shirt pools around his chest in a complete failure of its duty. Frank rises from the sofa and circles slowly around Red, who holds his position and maybe even his breath, Frank can’t quite tell, its so quiet.

Three quarters around his loop, Frank pauses. He crouches down and runs a hand along Red’s spine, from the base of his tailbone down to his neck, eliciting a shiver.

“You’re real pretty like this, Red. I wouldn’t mind keeping you on display.” Frank lets his hands wander then, the first moving back to Red’s tailbone, down over his boxers covering the Devil’s ass.

He feels a hot curl, low in his abdomen. Feels possessive and primal, all at once. If Frank had one of those new, fancy smartphones, he would be tempted to snap a picture to remember this moment, but he’ll just have to commit it to memory instead.

Frank’s other hand brushes over Red’s back, making little swirls as it pushes the shirt further down and out of the way. His hand skitters over Red’s ribs, their expanding and contracting the only movement Red is making, before slipping under the front of the shirt, finding Red’s nipple, and __twisting__.

Red gasps and arches his back in surprise, but holds his position. His head is the only thing that really moves, forehead leaving the floor slightly, turning sideways in Frank’s general direction. But apparently its not more than a passing thought because he doesn’t appear to actually look towards Frank himself, but settles back resting his head on it side as he otherwise stays in position. Frank eases the pressure just a bit, leans in and asks, “you want more, Red?”

The immediate - if shaky - “ _ _Yes__ ” is a nice confirmation, but Frank expects more. He gives another sharp twist.

“Yes - Yes, __sir__ ” Red almost moans out, but Frank doesn’t back off.  
  
”Tell me what you’re good for, Red” he growls. “Beg for what you want.”

“Please, Frank - Sir, __please__.” and the clear desperation in his voice is filthy and wrong and so hot. “Mark me. Use - fuck my mouth, sir. Use me, please _ _.__ I’ll be so good for you, just - __please.__ ”

“Well, who knew the devil of Hells Kitchen just needed someone to put him in his place?” Frank drawls, the hand on Red’s ass drifting back up and slipping under the waistband of Red’s - __Frank’s__  - boxers. “You’re just a desperate little slut underneath that mask, aren’t you?” He’s not expecting a response but Red gives him one anyway, nodding quickly.

“ _ _Please,__ ” and who is Frank to turn down such a request? He grabs the curve of Red’s ass just a little too roughly.

Red’s answering groan is positively obscene, and he pushes his ass back into Frank’s palm. Frank yanks the boxers down further to pool around Red’s knees, leaving him exposed. Red’s shoulders hunch and Frank thinks he might be hesitating at the exposure, thinking too much, but there’s an easy solution. Frank gives it a second to see if Red’s going to say something, then stands up and pulls his hand back, landing a hard ‘swat’ across both of Red’s ass cheeks.

“Oh-” Red lets out a surprised yelp before gasping out “Thank you, sir,” and well, isn’t that something? Frank can feel his cock twitch, its length hardening at Red’s response. He can __definitely__ work with this.

 

He counts out a few more, all the while Red vibrates with want and thanks him, sounding breathy and needier with each hit. Red is rocking ever so slightly and Frank’s pretty sure he’s trying to rut against his own stomach, but the position wouldn’t offer much pressure, surely? Frank uses his boot to push one of Red’s knees out, making Red spread his legs apart. Without his thighs together, it’d be even more difficult for Red to find any relief in his position.

Ah, hell. Deciding to run with it, Frank pushes Red’s other knee out, leaving Red’s legs spread wide. Red’s breathing is ragged already, and Frank is revelling in how responsive the younger man is; he hasn’t even touched his cock. Frank gives one more rough squeeze before stepping back again and giving the remaining swats.

 

After the tenth hit, Frank cups Red’s ass gently, drifting light touches over the red skin. “You did so good,” he praises, “so well.”

Red leans into his touch and heat radiates under Frank’s hand. Keeping his touch light, he traces over the reddened skin a few times before caressing down Red’s crack and pushing lightly against his hole.

“Today?” Frank starts softly, leaning close and running his fingers lower; giving Red’s perineum a few firm strokes. Red whimpers and pushes back into his touch. “I own you,” Frank finishes.

A shiver runs through Red and he nods.

"I bet you can take so much more, can’t you?”

“Yes sir” Red’s response is soft - like the mere act of talking is too much - but immediate. There’s no hesitation and Frank knows Red wants more.  Rising back up, Frank unbuckles his belt and pulls it through the loops. Red appears to melt into the whisper of leather on fabric. Frank watches, fascinated, as the tension just drains from him.

Well of __course__ the devil of Hells Kitchen is a total masochist. He takes the belt so well and Red knows he’s leaving bruises that’ll be felt for days. Frank warms up with a couple of softer ones, but by the tenth he’s making sure each hit counts. “Light?”

“Green,” the younger man gasps out with no hesitation. “So - so fucking green.” Frank is pretty pleased with Red’s stutter as he lands another blow. He changes the angle after that, leaving a criss-cross of welts up and down Red’s ass and thighs. Red is panting and leaning into it though, so Frank doesn’t feel bad at all.

 


End file.
